


Heaven is a Place on Earth

by Shadaras



Category: Black Mirror
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, F/F, Femslash, San Junipero, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8485831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: Maybe we do get happy endings.(San Junipero, with more queerness and more communication, and a completely different ending.)





	

San Junipero smells like the desert, and that’s the first thing Yorkie notices as the sim crystallizes around her. She’s in what the brochure told her would be a hotel room, but it still smells like the desert, like dust and dryness and the burning sun that’s just barely setting now. Yorkie looks in the mirror, and lets out a breath in relief; she looks exactly like she’s supposed to. Young, red hair that just brushes her chin, jeans and a sweater so thin it doesn’t really deserve the name, but it’s clinging to her curves, modest as they are.

Yorkie lifts her chin and smiles. She’s wearing glasses out of habit, even in the sim, where she doesn’t need them at all if she doesn’t want them. But she does. It’s another layer between her and everyone else, and she needs that, even now, even here. She runs a hand across her body, watching herself in the mirror; the subtle stripes on the sweater help draw out her curves, she’s pretty sure, and the fabric is softer and cleaner than most things she remembers wearing in her childhood. She could change — there’s a closet in the room, and the sim’s menu hides just a thought away — but the thought’s intimidating. _Not tonight_ , Yorkie decides. She nods at herself in the mirror. Tonight is for exploring. Next time — next time she’ll dress up.

( _Next time,_ she tells herself, as she walks down the stairs and into the town. _Next time, I might have a reason to dress up._ )

It’s easy to follow the crowds of people who know where they’re going. They’re laughing, arms wrapped around each other, conversations mixing and mingling and joyous. Yorkie hugs herself, hunching her shoulders. It’s not then, she reminds herself. _They’re seeing you the way you want to be seen._ The reassurance doesn’t help. Her shoulders are still tight, and her back is still curved, and the neon lights of San Junipero are harsh against her eyes, reflecting against her glasses in a flurry of kaleidoscopic glory. It’s hard to see, and she presses against the wall to a — a bar, she realises, as a couple stumbles out, giggling and still holding bottles of something that’s almost certainly beer.

You’re here to explore, she thinks angrily. Her fingers tighten on her thin sweater. _No risk, no reward. Nothing can hurt you,_ really hurt you, here.

So she draws in a deep breath, straightens her back as much as she can, and walks into the bar.

It’s loud, and she should’ve expected that, but the music doesn’t reach outside. _Instancing,_ she realises. She can’t notice the lag as she moves between areas, but with her consciousness fully immersed in the sim, she wouldn’t. There are people everywhere, with jean jackets and tassels and sequins on their— their everything, really. Yorkie keeps to the edge, creeping around the room, until she spots the arcade on the other side. That’s familiar, and it’s awful how deep the ache goes, the way her gut relaxes and she feels like she can breathe again, when she enters the arcade. The games aren’t quite what she recognises, but they’re all simple, and she can learn.

She digs in her pocket for a quarter, and shoves it into one of the machines. The upbeat 8-bit music overrides the dance tunes, and she’s more grateful for that than she wants to think about. She runs through the first four levels without thinking, bubbling the enemies, and then a guy comes over; glasses, khaki jacket, nervous face. (He looks like— she thinks, and then cuts herself off. She came here to escape those thoughts.)

“Hey,” he says, and she barely glances at him. She needs to stay focused. “Most people don’t come over here. There are better places for play, if arcades are what you’re into.”

“I needed a break,” she says, and then she curses, because one of them’s escaping.

She can almost _feel_ the way he brightens at that. “Me too!” He shuffles closer. “Uh, hey, so... there’s a multi-player function on that, did you know? And different endings, depending on if you’ve got one or two players. Would you—”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Yorkie says, snarls almost, as GAME OVER flashes across the screen. She turns to the guy properly, and says, “Sorry, I promised myself just one game.” Before he can say anything else, she walks past him, heart racing faster than it really should be.

“Maybe next time?” he calls after her, and she barely hears him before she steps back into the sound and movement of the bar itself.

She gets a drink — just a coke — and settles down to watch. She never really... danced. Too awkward and bony and her body never felt right on the dance floor. But watching people move, that’s wonderful, because they’re laughing and some of them stumble and some of them are fluid, and all of them seem to be having a good time. She can’t look at the ones who decide that making out is a dance move; she doesn’t get it, how they can do that in public without worrying about repercussions, but God’s blessing upon them for it, she supposes.

Then a woman sits herself down right next to Yorkie, purple jacket a blaze of attitude, and says, “Follow my lead. Whatever I say, just follow my lead.”

Yorkie eyes her, but nods, especially when she sees the dude following the other woman. The other woman turns to the man as he comes up, and says, “I _said_ , we’re _done_.”

He spreads his hands, beseeching, and _fuck_ if Yorkie hasn’t seen that exact posture a hundred times or more. “But, babe, we had so much fun!”

“And it was a _one-time thing_.” She punctuates each word with a stab of her finger. “Besides—” her voice slips from acid to honey, and her arm slips around Yorkie’s shoulder. Yorkie blinks, a little too fast, her heart pounding, but she doesn’t move. “I’ve got to catch up with my friend here. She’s only got six months to live, you know?”

“Five, actually,” Yorkie says, before she can think any more about how this might be a bad idea, and _Oh God, what have I gotten myself into._

The woman turns to her and smiles, just a little, and her arm tightens, drawing Yorkie closer. “See? It’s even less time than I thought.”

The guy huffs, and goes, “Well, _fine._ ” He storms off, and neither of them say anything until he’s disappeared into the crowd.

As soon as he’s out of sight, the other woman moves to the other side of the table. “Sorry about that,” she says, cheerful, chin perched on her clasped hands. “We’d said, one time, no strings, and then he just... won’t go away, you know?”

Yorkie nods, not quite able to speak. She’s... pretty isn’t the right word. Beautiful, but something sharper than that is what Yorkie would want to call her. Handsome, in another era, where the word didn’t mean quite the same thing. Dark skin, a riot of hair, eyes and teeth sparkling in the light; striking is another good word for her, and stunning works too, she’s sure.

She sticks out a hand. “Manners, right. I’m Kelly.”

“Yorkie.” She shakes Kelly’s hand, and Kelly’s grip is firm, her skin soft, and Kelly rubs her thumb across Yorkie’s before letting go.

“Like the dog?” she says, and there’s laughter in the words.

“Yeah.” Yorkie smiles a little in return. “I had one as a kid. People would mix up our names as a joke, and somehow her name stuck to me better than mine to her.”

Kelly laughs, and it’s the best thing Yorkie’s heard all night. “How long have you been here?” Kelly asks, eyes still fixed on Yorkie’s. “Or are you just a visitor?”

“This—” Yorkie swallows. “This is my first time, actually.”

Kelly’s face lights up in a grin that could swallow the stars, bright as they are above San Junipero’s desert. “Hella cool of you to help me out, girl.”

Yorkie blushes, and looks down. Her hair won’t hide it entirely, but... it helps.

“I’ve been visiting for a few months, myself,” Kelly continues, and if she’s noticed the effect she’s having on Yorkie, it’s impossible to tell how it’s affecting her.

“You— you like it here?” Yorkie looks up, over the glasses she doesn’t need and through the fragile almost-curtain of her hair.

Kelly shrugs. “It’s a better place, sometimes. Still has its share of assholes, because they can’t screen for that or nobody would get to come here at all.”

Yorkie nods.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Kelly says, and Yorkie almost chokes on the sip of coke she’s taking. “Come on, just as a thank-you for your help?”

“I— sure.”

Kelly smiles, and stands up, and tugs on Yorkie’s hand until she’s standing, too, and Yorkie’s having a hard time focusing on anything else with all of Kelly’s focus on her. “Saying it was actually five was inspired, by the way,” Kelly says as she drags Yorkie through the crowd.

Yorkie blushes again, but Kelly’s still turned forward, and so there’s no way at all she’ll see. “Thanks.”

Kelly orders for them, something with actual alcohol, and when Yorkie tries to demur, just raises and eyebrow and says, “It’s my treat. Unless you’ve got something against alcohol?”

“No...” Yorkie hunches her shoulders again. “I just don’t drink much, that’s all.”

“It’s a time for celebration,” Kelly tells her, leaning forward so that her jacket hangs open and the tight, low-cut shirt she’s wearing is too visible. “Just the one drink?”

Yorkie nods, eyes fixed on Kelly’s so that they don’t drop any lower.

It’s just a drink, and then it’s just a dance, and Kelly drags her into the crowd despite her protests that this isn’t her scene at all, that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. “Just follow my lead,” Kelly shouts over the music, and Yorkie _tries_ , she really does, but all she can see are the faces _looking_ at her, the glances that say _Look at that loser_ , and _Who does she think she’s kidding?_ and _She’s out of her league._

She’s used to those glances, but they hurt more, here, with Kelly grooving like she’s made for the dance floor, and dancing _with_ her, not just next to her but actively _with_ her. Yorkie’s heart keeps beating faster and faster, until Kelly grabs her hands and tries to lead her into another song’s dance, and Yorkie just _breaks_. She waits just until Kelly lets go, until she spins around in a hip-heavy move, and she darts across the dance floor, between all the couples looking into each other’s eyes, and out the door.

It’s quiet outside. The sim read her desire to _get away_ , she thinks, and gave her the empty street, quiet and cooler than it had been when she entered. The stars are out in force, now, glittering across the sky like tears. She sinks onto the outside of an air conditioner and presses her fingers into her eyes, underneath her glasse. “I can’t do this,” she tells herself, in a whisper. Her heart’s aching and her breath is still coming too fast, but at least out here she isn’t worried about passing out anymore.

She hears the door open, and pulls her hands from her eyes just in time to see Kelly walk out. She looks concerned, and Yorkie winces, in the moment before Kelly spots her.

“Hi,” Yorkie says, when Kelly’s eyes widen. “I just... it’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m sorry if I pushed too much,” Kelly says, and she’s not smiling now. “I just wanted you to have a good time.”

Yorkie nods, a little, and looks at the street. It’s cleaner than it should be, but that’s sims for you; replicate all the good, even make it better, and politely ignore as much of the bad as it’s possible to get away with.

“If you want to be alone...” Kelly’s voice trails off, unsure.

“I...” Yorkie glances up. “It was all the people. Not you.”

Kelly’s smile is tentative, but it’s there, and something in Yorkie relaxes too, at that. Kelly leans against the wall by the door, says, “Claustrophobic?”

“Not really.” Yorkie turns a little, so that she can see Kelly better. “It just... felt like they were all looking. And judging. Me. Us.” She swallows against the lump in her throat. She knows it’s probably not true, but it’s hard to break habits so ingrained.

“They weren’t,” Kelly says, her voice implacable. “If they were looking, it’s ‘cause you were new, or ‘cause I’m just too fly for all of them.”

Yorkie laughs, and it’s crackly and harsh around the lump sticking in her throat, but it’s still a laugh, and it feels good. “I know, but it’s just...”

“Hey.” Kelly moves closer, slowly, reaches out a hand. “We can go somewhere else, if you want. You could come back to my place, even.”

Yorkie shifts away, curling up again. “I—”

“It’d clean away all this, replace it with something good.” Kelly touches her shoulder, strokes down her arm, and Yorkie shivers despite herself.

“I can’t,” Yorkie says, and it’s too fast, too high-pitched. “I— I _can’t_.”

Kelly’s hand doesn’t move, immediately. Her fingers even tighten a little, press a little harder.

Yorkie shoves herself off the air conditioner and starts walking away. She glances over her shoulder, knowing what she looks like, not able to resist one last look at Kelly standing there, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and says, not sure if it’s even loud enough to be heard, “I’m sorry, I— you’re wonderful, but I— I just _can’t_.”

She runs away, then, before Kelly can say or do anything else.

 

* * *

One week later and Yorkie’s back in San Junipero, cursing herself. Of all the sims, she’s picking _this one_ , where she knows Kelly’s probably going to be, where she knows that she’s going to go _looking_ , and she can’t tell herself that it’s a bad idea, because it’s not, not really. Except for all the fear. But that’s... not the point, not exactly, because being afraid isn’t a good reason not to do something. She’s told herself that, her therapist’s told herself that, her friends have told her that, but it’s still _so hard_ to believe.

She dresses up this time, jean jacket and a shirt that shows her collarbones, and shorts that are tighter to her thighs. She shakes her head at the mirror. _When I told myself I was dressing up next time _, she thinks, pushing her glasses on at the last minute, _this wasn’t what I was expecting.___

__But she walks into town, and she finds the bar, Tucker’s, and she walks inside, and there’s Kelly, sitting at the bar, talking— talking to a guy. Yorkie moves around, trying to catch her eye, and knows she succeeds, because Kelly’s eyes widen. Yorkie smiles, but Kelly just turns back to the guy she’s with, body language fixed and determined, and the air rushes out of Yorkie’s lungs and it’s too loud in the bar._ _

__She doesn’t leave. She tells herself that she can have fun anyway. That she’s not— not being a stalker. She’s just. Happening to keep an eye on Kelly, that’s all, because last week, when she was with a guy, she didn’t want to be with him, and maybe it’s different this week, but... just in case..._ _

__They don’t talk that week. Or the next. Yorkie keeps her distance, drifting into Kelly’s view, waving and smiling, and they keep it up for a month of brief not-quite-meetings before Yorkie runs into Kelly in the ladies’ room, completely by accident. She’s coming out, Kelly’s going in, and they both freeze in the middle, mirrored above the sinks, and there’s nobody else in the room._ _

__Yorkie smiles, and says, “Hi.”_ _

__Kelly closes her eyes, and says, “Hi.”_ _

__Yorkie almost leaves, then, because of the resignation in Kelly’s tone, but then Kelly says, “I come here to have fun, you know?” and Yorkie looks back up at her. Kelly’s looking at her, a bit of a smile on her face, but tension all around her eyes. “Flings for an evening, and at midnight, _poof_ —” she gestures, her fingers an explosion “—it’s all over, and we can forget and move on.”_ _

__“I can go,” Yorkie starts saying, but Kelly’s in the way, looking right at her again, just as forceful and animated as that first time._ _

__“No, don’t. I’m telling you this because...” Kelly winces, tugs on a strand of her coiled hair. “You keep hanging around, and I can’t stop thinking about you, and that’s... not fun. Not the fun I come here for.”_ _

__“I can go,” Yorkie says again. She wraps her arms around herself. “I’m... I’m sorry if I’ve bothered you, but...” she swallows, and makes herself say it anyway, if only in a whisper. “I keep thinking about you, too, and your... your offer. That first night. And. Maybe.” She closes her eyes, because her voice has run out and she doesn’t know what to say, and her hair’s draped around her face properly now._ _

__“There are other girls in San Junipero,” Kelly says, gently, carefully._ _

__“I know,” Yorkie says, helplessly, and she squeezes herself tighter. She does manage to open her eyes again, but Kelly’s face is so guarded that she can’t make out anything helpful. “But you’ve seen how... I don’t fit in here. It’s... hard for me to— to talk to people.”_ _

__“Then why come back?”_ _

__Yorkie winces. “The first week, because I wanted to— to apologise. For running away like that.”_ _

__Kelly slowly reaches out, every move telegraphed, and this time Yorkie doesn’t move away. Kelly lays her hand on Yorkie’s arm, and even through the clothing it’s a flame against her skin. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”_ _

__“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Yorkie manages, and she uncoils one arm from around herself. Carefully, she reaches up and places it on top of Kelly’s. “I... if that offer were renewed...”_ _

__Kelly waits, thumb rubbing gentle lines across Yorkie’s arm._ _

__“I would say yes,” Yorkie says, and the words are a tumble, a rush, a wave crashing over her because she can’t take that back now, can’t unsay it, and she knows her ears are almost as red as her hair, and her cheeks are close to as bright, and everything feels too warm and her chest feels funny but it’s in a good way._ _

__Kelly smiles, and the hammering heat in Yorkie’s chest spreads, until it’s washing down her arms and into her pelvis. “This is normally where I say that it’d just be one night, for fun and nothing more, no strings.”_ _

__Yorkie swallows, and her shoulders hunch again, without her even thinking about it._ _

__“But...” Kelly reaches up with her other hand, and presses it against Yorkie’s cheek. Her skin is cool, against the flush Yorkie knows is there, and her fingers are soft. “I think tonight, I want to make an exception.”_ _

__Yorkie laughs, and she’s halfway to crying, and Kelly folds her into a hug before she’s even quite realised it. Where Kelly’s skin touches hers is a crackle of electricity, and Yorkie wonders, in the part of her that isn’t flooded with relief and wonder, that it’s going to be like when most of their bodies aren’t covered with clothes._ _

__Kelly takes her to a house by the beach, where the waves crashing is a backdrop for everything they do. Yorkie isn’t quite sure how much time it took for them to get there, but she’s pretty sure it was only a few minutes but it should’ve been longer. Sims. Sometimes they’re very useful. Kelly tells her that the house reminds her of her own childhood, on a beach with her family, and Yorkie smiles but can’t quite find anything to say._ _

__Inside, Kelly ushers her into the bedroom, where there’s a gorgeous, giant white bed filling much of the space. Kelly pulls off her jacket, drops it on the floor, and then hesitates. “You ever done this before?” she asks._ _

__Yorkie shakes her head, fiddling with the zipper on her jacket._ _

__“We’ll go slow,” Kelly promises, and then steps forward and says, “I’m going to kiss you now.”_ _

__Yorkie nods, and leans in to Kelly’s touch, to the warmth of her skin and the sea-salt taste of her lips. It’s gentle, but Yorkie still rocks back with the force of it, and when Kelly draws back Yorkie knows she’s flushed all over again. Kelly’s smiling, though, and Yorkie says, “I like that.”_ _

__Kelly says, “Good,” and proceeds to start showing Yorkie a lot of other things that she likes._ _

 

 

* * *

They meet up the next week, and the next, and the next, and Kelly shows Yorkie the cinema (where they don’t watch anything, but eat popcorn and look at all the movie posters, pointing out anachronisms), and the arcade (where Yorkie beats Kelly five times in Tetris before Kelly cheats by kissing her and breaking all her concentration, but the triumphant laugh and victory dance Kelly does after makes it all worth it), and walk along the boardwalk (Yorkie refuses to go on the roller-coasters, but Kelly rides them all, and then takes Yorkie up on the ferris wheel, and they kiss at the top and it feels like a dream).

It’s the fourth week when Kelly says, “Where do you live, really?”

They’re back at Tucker’s, because Kelly wants to teach Yorkie to dance properly, and Yorkie’s almost not afraid of that anymore. Yorkie looks down at her drink. “I don’t know if you’d still like me, if you met me in person.”

Kelly shrugs, and says, “It wasn’t your kissing that made me break my own rule.”

Yorkie blushes, and says, “I’m just... it’s easier to be yourself here, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” Kelly bites her lip, and then says, “Carson City, Nevada. That’s where I am.”

“Kelly, I...”

“If you don’t want to say...”

Yorkie shakes her head, quickly. “Please don’t feel you need to visit.”

Kelly narrows her eyes. “What’s the problem?”

“I...” Yorkie looks away again. “Can we talk about it somewhere else?”

“Before or after dancing?”

“After,” Yorkie says, too quickly, because maybe Kelly will forget, maybe they’ll dance longer and it’ll be midnight and the sim will send them home like a fairy godmother, and she won’t need to have this conversation with Kelly tonight, when she’s not prepared.

Kelly nods, and downs the rest of her drink in one go. “You ready?”

Yorkie laughs a little, and sets down her drink. Kelly hasn’t tried to get her to drink alcohol since that first night, and she’s grateful for it. “Teach me your ways,” she says, taking Kelly’s hand, and rubbing her thumb against hers.

Kelly smiles at her, and pulls her onto the dance floor, and everything’s lost in music and movement and the feel of Kelly’s hands on her body, pushing and pulling until Yorkie starts to almost feel cool. Kelly’s still better, her body moving with the music like it’s part of it, but Yorkie’s getting it, and matching Kelly’s moves more often than not, and laughing when she misses a step, and she’s not looking at anyone else, tonight, so all she can see is the glow in Kelly’s face and the her wide, joyous smile.

They leave the club at 11:30pm, and Kelly does say, when they enter the mostly-deserted streets, “Will you tell me now?”

She says it so gently, and Yorkie looks away and bites her lip. “I... I don’t look like this.”

Kelly shrugs. “Looks aren’t everything.”

“No, I mean.” Yorkie tightens her grip on Kelly’s hand, as they wander down towards the waterfront. They both like the ocean, find it soothing. “Really different.”

“That covers so many things, puppy.”

“I’m trans,” Yorkie says, not looking at Kelly at all. She’s squeezing Kelly’s hand too hard to be able to tell anything from that, and they’re still walking. “I— this is what I would’ve looked like if I’d— been born in—” she stops, unable to keep going, but her feet keep moving, and Kelly’s still beside her, hand warm and heels striking the street with defiant _click_ s.

They walk in silence for a little bit, and then Kelly says, “Okay,” and tugs Yorkie to a stop.

Yorkie doesn’t look up.

“Are you trans?” Kelly says, and her voice is calm, almost dangerously so to Yorkie's ears.

“I—” Yorkie chokes.

“It's okay if you are. I'm not— you're _Yorkie_ , and I like _you_ , and if you think your body is gonna scare me off, _don't_. I don't give a shit. It's your body. If you're comfortable in it, that's what matters.”

Yorkie manages to glance up, then, at the warrior queen embodied in Kelly.

"I don't look exactly like this either." Kelly shrugs a little. "I'm not this young. I don't think you are either. If this is the youth we wish we had, and we've embellished a bit—well, that's just human nature. But you can't fake personality. So if you really don’t want me to visit, I won’t.” Kelly’s hand comes up and gently cups Yorkie’s cheek, helping draw her gaze to Kelly’s. “But if it’s just about being afraid that you’re trans and I won’t like you?” Kelly shakes her head. “That’s not going to be a problem, puppy.”

It takes her a minute to say it, to work the words through the tightness in her throat. But then Yorkie says, “Santa Rosa, California.”

Kelly doesn't get it immediately. When she does, she smiles, and pulls Yorkie into a hug. “We’ll talk about logistics next week.”

“Yeah,” Yorkie says, and there’s hope blooming in her chest that she never thought she’d feel. “That sounds good to me.”

 

* * *

They do talk, and Kelly does drive out to visit, because Santa Rosa is closer to the shore, and they both want to go to the ocean together, in person, during the day when the sun fights away the chill of the sea wind.

Yorkie greets Kelly in a dress that’s tight against her chest that doesn’t curve quite the way she wishes it did, and they’ve both got gray in their hair, and wrinkles on their faces, but they meet in a coffee shop and they drive to the beach, and by the time they’re there, barefoot in the sand and hair blowing in their faces, it’s like nothing’s changed at all.

When Yorkie kisses Kelly, leaning down more than in the sim, her lips are the same: warm, strong, and tasting of sea-salt, and she’s happy, and that hope that bloomed has blossomed, and, for that moment, everything is perfect. Everything is good.

And Yorkie thinks, as she draws back from Kelly, and Kelly smiles with teeth that aren’t perfectly straight, aren’t perfectly white, but still gleam in the sun, that maybe she’ll get the happiness she wanted after all.


End file.
